Sweet Dreams are Made of This
by Cecilia King
Summary: Violet and Tate haven't seen much of each other since their last goodbye, a decade ago. But now, they find love in each other again, and the house is turned upside down. [Violate Fanfiction]


Sweet Dreams are Made of This

Violate Fafiction  
A.H.S.: Murder House  
Chapter One

[**Warning: **This story is _not_ one appropriate for children. I will not be holding back on language and to be honest, this story is, for the most part, porn, and you have now been warned, so if you're sensitive to sex or language or violence, turn back while you still can Besides, this is an American Horror Story fanfiction, and AHS comes with gore and sex and AHS-type things. So, you have been warned. I hope you enjoy.]

How long had it been? Violet didn't know. Days, weeks... years? She didn't keep count. She didn't allow herself to wonder about the outside world. She, instead, tried to forget. Tried to forget the feeling of his lips on hers. The feeling of his strong arms around her waist. The feeling of being loved and having someone want to protect you. The feeling that he gave her. Tate. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't force the name from her mind. And as much as her brain screamed _rapist! Murderer!_, her heart screamed _he loves you! You love him!_ just as loudly.

In the basement, Tate knew exactly how long it at been. Ten years. The walls down here were etched with tiny slashes, ticking off the days since that last goodbye. He'd been dead for thirty years and she'd been dead for ten, and of that ten, they'd spoken once. Eight years ago, when Tate had gotten too close and Violet had yelled that she couldn't bare to see him; she said that, were she living, he might disgust her to the point of wanting to puke. Tate's heart shattered all over again at that. It had been 3,560 days since that last kiss, and not one had gone by that he didn't think of her. Miss her. Want her.

Time did not exist in the Murder House. For those who didn't care, time was something the living had to think about. The living were biding time until they died, avoiding death until it had them in a corner, weak and defenseless and so exhausted that they were ready to go. The dead were trapped for an endless eternity and, frankly, keeping count would've driven them insane, sitting in the basement surrounded by slashes etched into the walls as Tate was doing this instant.

The house's reputation was so infamous, that of those 3,560 days, not one had been filled by living, breathing occupants. The house grew tired, restless, as the malevolent spirits waited for someone to torment and the spirits who really didn't care sat and wasted the days, ticking by in a never-ending eternity. They had their pleasures from life that they carried into death. Hayden and Travis had sex. Moira had cleaning. Vivien and Ben had the baby.

And as the two most precious occupants, darkness manifested in a handsome face and a pure, bright-eyed girl with hair like wheat in the summertime, sat in the basement and the bedroom, respectively, the house knew that it must act. It needed a bit of drama. It craved the sounds of anger. Of hatred. All its walls got nowadays was the sound of the whore and the Boy Dahlia going at it. The sound of that wretched baby crying.

So, one evening as a storm raged outside, the house sent one of its more loyal occupants to drive the darkness out of the basement. Tate didn't have any reason to tell Thaddeus go away and thus trekked upstairs and plopped down on the couch. Meanwhile, the darkness upstairs was growing nervous over the loud thunder and bright flashes as the rain pelted the windows. Violet didn't like thunderstorms. She thought of going to her father, but he didn't really care about her anymore. She was a thing of the past, and the baby was there, and though the Harmons didn't notice... their life was a constant repeat.

Vivien said the baby was a miracle. Ben chuckled and held him and kissed his tiny little nose. Violet sat in her room on the bed and thought of how nice it would be for the house to burn and for the torment of eternity to end.

The house waited.

So Violet went downstairs where she felt less vulnerable. She walked into the kitchen, but Hayden was on the counter and Travis was rutting into her hard, so Violet departed for the living room, but Tate was there.

He looked up when she entered. Stood quickly and said, "I was just leaving," and headed towards the door.

Against Violet's better judgment, she called out, "no, wait," and watched as Tate froze. "Stay with me." Violet whispered, so quiet that Tate could barely make out what she had said.

She sat on the couch and Tate approached carefully, sitting beside her. She snuggled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, melting into the warmth of his familiar embrace. Her brain screamed its warnings of the crimes he'd committed and her heart screamed about how amazing this felt. "I love you," Tate whispered. He knew she wouldn't respond, but he felt like he had to say it. For if not now, when she had so willingly come to him, when?

"Goddamn you, Tate Langdon." Violet murmured. He thought she'd leave. He was readying himself to be alone again. But instead, she kissed him.

He let out a surprised noise but melted into the kiss as soon as the initial shock passed. Her lips were soft. Her hands roaming over his chest felt perfect and set off little fireworks inside his mind. His hands rested on her cheeks... on the small of her back... in her hair... anywhere and everywhere he knew wouldn't cause her to push away and say he'd gone too far. He touched as much of her as he could get, for he'd missed the feeling of her lips and how soft her skin was.

She'd forgotten how nice he felt. The way he smelled and tasted. A small and ever-shrinking part of her brain was screaming about the horrible things he'd done, and the rest of her brain was addled and foggy and then it was telling her body that it needed more. More of this. More of him.

He was surprised when she pulled herself onto his lap, straddling him and tangling her fingers in his hair and kissing him passionately. She moaned a little when his tongue brushed over her bottom lip, eagerly allowing him access into her mouth. "Violet," he whispered, his lips still almost touching hers. She let out a sound that was a cross between asking him why he'd stopped and begging him to give her more. "Violet you gotta get off or I'll do something stupid." He could feel himself getting flustered and knew that soon he'd pin her to the couch and do things to her that would make her hate him more.

"Shit," she whispered, kissing along his jawline and then nipping at the spot on his neck, just behind his ear, that she knew always got him going. He let out a grunt. "If being stupid feels this good, we should do it more often."

And then her lips were on his again and she was moaning at the feeling of his dick rising in his pants. "Please, Tate," she moaned against his lips.

Getting cocky now - in more ways than one - the forever-teen smirked and bit her bottom lip, tugging at it softly. "Please what?"

"Jesus I hate you," she moaned, "please, Tate, please take me upstairs and throw me on the bed and rip off my clothes and _ravage me_."

"Gladly," Tate grunted, lifting them off the couch and placing his hands on her thighs. They were still kissing as he stumbled up the stairs with her, down the hallway and into her bedroom. She kissed him hungrily as he kicked the door shut and laid her out on the bed. She looked at him. He looked back.

He saw perfection. Her lips were red and puffy and she was breathing hard even though she didn't have to, and the breath made it feel so much more _real_. Her chest heaved and her hair was everywhere and her eyes were alight with lust.

He took off his tshirt, slowly climbing into bed and pulling her into his lap again. Her hands rubbed over his bare chest, her eyes were running over every inch of his exposed flesh, and she was unbuttoning her own oversized plaid button-up. He moved her trembling hands away from the buttons and undid them himself, moving calmly and removing her shirt in an agonizingly slow manner, leaving her in a purple bra and black skinny jeans. They looked at each other.

"Tate... please... I need you." She whispered. He nodded and brought her into a kiss again, feeling her hands on his shoulders, fingernails digging into his flesh. His hands found the clasp of her bra and pulled, tugging at it until the clasp came undone and then sliding the silky fabric down her arms. He threw the bra at the door and kissed down her neck, leaving a hickey which faded almost immediately, biting at her collarbone, kissing down as his right hand massaged her right breast. She let out a little moan, and then a louder moan, as his mouth closed around her left nipple, sucking gently at it and swirling his tongue around it. "Tate," she sighed, running her nails lightly over his back.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Violet?" He asked, pulling away from her and looking her in her eyes. Those perfect brown eyes that he loved so much. She nodded, looking almost desperate. "What? Was that a yes?"

"God, yes!" She gasped out, grinding her hips on the bulge in his jeans, trying to get him to stop playing games. "Stop screwing around and fuck me, goddamn it!"

He rolled them over so he was on top, rising onto his knees and unbuttoning his pants. Violet watched, chest heaving hard, as he pulled his jeans and boxers down to his knees and worked at her own jeans. He got them undone and slid them down her legs, and she kicked them off and looked at his cock, standing like a soldier at attention. It had been such a long time... they'd only had sex that once... it had felt so good... she wanted more. She barely noticed him removing her panties as she saw him slamming into her over and over and over and over again in her mind's eye.

"What should we do with you?" He mused, running the tips of his fingers down her sides, feeling her curves and her skin like velvet. "Maybe..." he positioned himself on his knees before her, kicking off his own jeans the rest of the way and using his thumb to rub over her clit. His hands were deft and nimble and they made Violet moan, causing her to sit almost bolt upright. "And then..." he murmured, replacing his finger with his lips, kissing at her clit and running his tongue over her slit in a teasing manner. She felt him doing this more and it registered in the back of her mind that he was spelling his name over and over and over again. First, the T; then the A; then another T; and finally the E. She thought she might cum just from that. Her breathing was getting heavy and her stomach was tightening. "Not just yet, love," he whispered, coming back up to her head and kissing her nose gently. He moved over to her ear and bit down hard, causing her to cry out in painful pleasure and jerk her hips towards his own. "You taste nice," he whispered in her ear. "You're so soft," he kissed her shoulder. "So sweet." He kissed her neck. "Oh, Violet. So beautiful." He nipped at her collarbone. "_My_ Violet. My beautiful, beautiful Violet."

She loved him. It was in that moment that she realized that she still loved him. She realized that she couldn't hate him, regardless of what he'd done and how much she wanted to hate him. He was right. She was his. She always had been and always would be. "God, I love you," her voice was practically a scream, like she wanted the walls themselves to hear. Like she wanted the world to know.

He slammed into her.

She screamed his name as she felt him thrusting hard in and out of her and she knew this wouldn't last long for either of them. His thrusts were already hard and fast and shallow and the chord in Violet's stomach was tightening hard as he moaned his fantasies in her ear, told her that he pictured her all the time, sucking his cock, bouncing up and down on it. As he sped up and felt himself coming closer to the edge, the obscene words and fantasies turned into her name. Over and over, endlessly in her ear, the word 'Violet' repeating until it became senseless and lost all meaning. And she was moaning, too. Panting like a whore and bucking upwards to meet his hips and screaming his name and begging for more. Harder, faster, more, more, more. She didn't care which of the house's residents heard her and Tate _loved it._

They came at the same time. Tate and Violet screamed for each other and her nails scraped over his back so hard they drew blood and he thrust down to his hilt and the world around them blurred. The only thing that existed for Violet was Tate. The only thing that existed for Tate was Violet.

Tate and Violet. Violet and Tate.

He stayed on top of her for a moment, drenched in their sweat and their fluids. Panting though he really didn't have to. He rolled off of her, her screams of how much she loved him playing over and over again in his mind. She snuggled up to him, resting against his chest, feeling a heat that she hadn't felt in a long time. His arms wrapped around her waist. Her hands rested on his chest.

The house was not happy.


End file.
